Easy As Life
by LilyHermione
Summary: I know that at the end of 7th Year, Harry’ll probably be battling Voldemort for his life and Hogwarts will be in complete mayhem, but hey. This is all about Ron and Hermione!


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**Easy As Life**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter in any way. If I did, instead of sitting in front of my computer in my humble abode, I would be lounging off the coast of some fantastic tropical island on a yacht with a butler named Niles fetching me iced tea. Lyrics from AIDA belong to Disney. I do, however, do wish to claim ownership over the boy who has simultaneously broken my heart but inspired this entire fic...;)

**A/N:** Keeping with tradition, named the fic after a title of one of my favorite songs from _AIDA_, verses of which are sprinkled throughout this fic. Right. Usually I cannot _stand_ these kinds of Post-Hogwarts-romantic-drama-fics where Hermione is a workaholic who somehow lost connections with her loverboy, but please know that this one has the potential of being a bit interesting as it is purely auto-biographical (almost verbatim!). Each chapter is going up as it unfolds, one way or another in the all-too-boring-if-not-ironic life of the authoress.:) As I said, it's totally R/H (All I ever wanted, and I threw it away. Pass me the Diet Coke, dahling.) and hopefully will include more than Part I and have a happy ending. However that is entirely based upon a certain someone ahem, so if you like it, please keep your fingers crossed! Oh, and a review would be lovely. :) P.S. Please excuse the formatting/strange characters/running-together text. despises me and Microsoft Word, apparently. :P

* * *

**Chapter One:**

If there was one thing Hermione Granger had a definite knack for, it was not letting anything bother her. Well, except for her performance on the last Potions tutorial, but since she had successfully (by which she was bestowed the tiles of Prefect, Head Girl, _and_ Hopeless Know-It-All—not bad for a muggle-born girl who discovered at a time when most girls were discovering a little thing called "curves" that she was actually a witch) completed her education at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry.

Indeed, as of last June, Gryffindor-Hermione-Granger officially became Alumni-Gryffindor- Hermione-Granger-who-now-is-fulfilling-an-internship-at-the-Daily-Prophet-while-simultaneously-excelling-at-her-research-position-in-the-Ministry. And she loved her work, even though it kept her exceedingly busy. Particularly because it kept her exceedingly busy and from thinking of how alone she had so suddenly become.

You see, if you happened to grace the hallways of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry at the time during which Hermione attended, you would not have found her without the loyal company of one rather famous Harry James Potter and an increasingly infamous Ronald Weasley. Their friendship was one that was bound to last a lifetime; anyone could have told you that. They had battled death, You-Know-Who, and Professor Snape's rather biased final examinations together. They were closer than close, they were practically blood-bound and Hermione believed they would always be and thought nothing could come between them.

It had been their dumbest, silliest argument to date. They were _always_ fighting, sure, and Hermione was certain this was just one more little skirmish that they would resolve just like all the rest and they would be walking arm-in-arm in no time at all. However, for the first time in her life, she was as wrong as she could be. Her life, therefore, could be summed up into one sentence:

She and Harry Potter were still as thick as thieves; she and Ron Weasley were not.

It was as simple as that.

_All I have to do is forget how much I love him.  
__All I have to do is put my longing to one side.  
__Tell myself that love's an ever-changing situation.  
__Passion would have cooled and all the magic would have died.  
__It's easy...it's easy._

And so, one fateful day in mid-September, while perusing her parents' attic, Hermione had stubbed her toe rather painfully on her trusty old trunk of school days long past. She had hidden it up there in a passionate rage of tears and well-chosen expletives the day after she had exited the great doors of Hogwarts for the last time. Nestled in its leathery and worn interior were notebooks, compositions, textbooks, and many other odds and ends Hermione could not bear to look upon because when she did, she knew the avalanche of memories both heartwarming and heart-wrenching but equally painful would catch up with her at last.

With a deep sigh, Hermione sat herself down on the musty old floor and slowly tilted back the latch and with a familiar creak, which sent a shiver up her spine, she allowed back into her life things she had tried so hard to forget.

Slowly, she lifted out a pile of crumpled parchment covered in her perfect handwriting and emblazoned with the approving marks of her professors, and a few cheeky scratchings of her friends. Every time she received work back, they always lent their expertise on the matter:

"Absolutely phenomenal! Full credit rewarded!"

That was Professor McGonagall.

"Wow, perfect marks. What a surprise. Better luck next time! ;)"

That was Harry.

"Deserves a bloody **_11_** for accuracy and content, but I'm giving this a 6 based on the fact that you mercilessly chucked your Advanced Ancient Runes text at my head because I was 'breathing too loudly' while you were completing this assignment. Wicked heavy book, that was."

I'll give you three guesses as to who that was. One hint (as if you needed it), Hermione had to squint a bit to make out his critique of her work.

Hermione sighed. Even though she complained about them defiling her paper and making the margins untidy, she missed their chicken scratch all over the place.

As she shifted the pile to place it on a nearby crate, something flittered out from between its pages. It was a quill, the Eagle-feather one, and Harry's favorite. She made a mental note to give it back to him the next time they met for tea.

Hermione reached into the trunk once more and withdrew an old house sweater, folded neatly. The moths had not yet gotten to it, thank goodness and Hermione lovingly ran a slender finger over the scarlet and gold embroidery of the Gryffindor crest and smiled softly. However her expression changed drastically as something she had not seen quite a while winked back at her: A glistening Prefect's badge.

Hermione shook the sweater out. It was much too big for her and a little more worn that one of her own. Ron's. She had rolled her eyes and told him to remove "that silly thing" because the new Prefects had long been established and he would simply be confusing the younger students. Sir Ex-Prefect Weasley had resolutely refused, quipping that "He who wears the badge will still be allowed to pull Malfoy's knickers over his head."

She had reprimanded his evident abuse of power.

He had given her his sweater to wear once when it was freezing cold and he and Harry had persuaded her to come along on a midnight raid of Honeydukes, courtesy of the Marauder's Map. That was another adventure all-together.

She touched its well-loved, soft material to her face. Even after all this time, it still smelt like him and even though she liked to think she never cried or did anything stupidly sentimental, as she felt her heart swell painfully as tears welled up in her eyes. And Hermione finally admitted that which she had so fervently denied. _God, she missed him so much. _Whoever said that boyfriends come and go, but best friends last forever obviously had not met Ron and Hermione.

_All I have to do is pretend I never knew him.  
__On those very rare occasions when he steals into my heart.  
__Better to have lost him when the ties were barely binded.  
__Better the contempt that the familiar cannot start.  
__It's easy…it's easy!_

(A/N: Flasback Begins...)

Even though it was practically June, the evenings were still a bit chilly (A/N: Hey, allegedly, Hogwarts is up in the Scottish Highlands, right?) and Hermione shivered a bit in her regulation school blouse as she and Harry walked along the lake on the way back to the castle. It is strange how being Head Boy and Girl can bring two people together, but as Harry had good-humoredly noted with a twinkle in his emerald eyes, "That is how my dad managed to win over Mum."

Their conversation quickly turned from Quidditch (Hermione loathed the bloody sport because frankly, that's all it is. A _very bloody_ sport. Anway…), to their end of year speeches, to finally, something that had been weighing on both their minds, perpetuated in part by guilt, a bit of humor, and a smidgen of disgust.

Ronald Weasley had, before their very eyes, changed quite a great deal in the past year. Apart from discovering that Quidditch automatically made you "popular" and simultaneously desireable to the opposite sex, Ron was taking full advantage of these perks of the Hogwarts Social Order. While Harry and Hermione had busied themselves with helping to oversee and ensure the well-being of the student body, Ron was catching a peek at a great many student (by which is meant, "every other attractive female") bodies while seating his bottom resolutely at the top of the social ladder with people at which Hermione sniffed her nose on a daily basis for their obvious conformity and fascism. She also couldn't help but remind dear Ronald each morning at the breakfast table of his mutation from insensitive-purely-aesthetic-jerk-with-emotional-capacity-to-fill-an-egg-cup to being a complete and utter manwhore.

_Until I think about him as he was when I last touched him.  
__And how he would have been, were I to be with him today.  
__Those very rare occasions don't let up. They keep on coming.  
__All I ever wanted and I'm throwing it away.  
__It's easy, it's easy as life. _

Nonetheless, as he lauched a piece of toast loaded with butter and raspberry jelly at her head, resulting in The Glare of Death, she still loved him dearly.

And of course, the entire population of Hogwarts (faculty included) upped their betting pool as to when Little Miss Perfect and Ron Weasley would announce their engagement.

"Everyone thought you two were destined to be together," as Professor McGonagall had ever so tactfully reminded Hermione at their last meet-up, to which Hermione wrinkled her nose at the positively incestuous notion as she and Ron basically grew up together and regarded each other as siblings.

Harry laughed outright.

"Did she really say that you to?" He hooted.

"Yes, I swear, Harry!" Hermione shrieked as she nearly lost her balance, tripping over a very large pebble and grabbing onto his arm for support.

"No, I just can't see McGongall saying something like that!" Harry replied as he steadied Hermione.

"I know, neither can I, but I suppose the fact that we're graduating in a week and are joining the Order compels her to see us more as colleagues than students." Hermione puffed as they raced each other up the hill.

"Next thing you know she'll be asking you to call her 'Minnie' and exchanging brownie recipes with you." Harry winked.

"I could _use_ a good brownie right now." Hermione breathed as she clutched a stitch in her side. How in the _world_ could Harry _not_ be out of breath?

"I've got some fudge leftover from the parcel Mrs. Weasley sent a while ago up in the dormitory. I can go get it when we get back up to the Common Room." Harry volunteered.

"Brilliant, thanks."

And the two of them pushed their way through one of the castle entrances and raced each other to the portrait hole.

* * *

**Chapter Two:**

There was so much of the enthralling relationship shared by Hogwarts' two most opinionated people the entire school population bore witness to and yet so much more that nobody ever knew of.

For instance, everyone and their Great Aunt Sally saw and heard how Ron went on a hysterically funny rampage each and every time someone bruised Hermione's honor, but few people, if any, knew that when Hermione's heart was breaking at the hand one stupid boy or another, she could always count on Ron (after he had a cheeky, good dig at her choice in men and tell her to simply "get over him") to soften his expression, take her tenderly into his arms, nestle his chin into her unruly chestnut hair and hold her while she sobbed. He would whisper in her ear as her whole body shook that she _was_ beautiful, he loved her smile which _is_¡mazing, no matter what any stupid boy can say about it. She had taken this embrace for granted, thinking that she would always be able to escape into its warmth and protection.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione, along with a gaggle of other Hogwarts students (including Ron's conniving new band and a few giggly girls) celebrated on the lawn of the Weasley home with butterbeer and hamburgers (courtesy of Mr. Granger's muggle contraption of a barbeque and Harry's desire to prove his prowess as "King of the Grill" while wearing a pair of bright blue swimming trunks on his head). Despite the euphoric weather, atmosphere, and the fact that they had successfully survived schooling and adolescence, Hermione was finding herself in a progressively more gloomy mood as she slumped over her bottle of butterbeer. She was sad, of course, to be leaving Hogwarts and admittedly, utterly frightened.he school¨ad been her home for seven years and her sanctuary. Now it was out into the big, wide, wizarding world. That was another matter, entirely, deciding in what capacity she could remain in the muggle world while striking out for the very first time, alone in a magical one still so strange to her. She never felt she belonged anywhere, not with her parents and all her non-magical friends, but as she was muggle-born, not in the wizarding one either. And what would she do without her two best friends? They each were starting three very different lives and she couldn't help but grow uneasy at the fact that Ron was starting to already drift away.

A shrill giggling cut through her thoughts and snapped her back into the present. A petite girl with straight, perfect, black hair whom Hermione recalled to be in Hufflepuff, was lying flirtatiously across Ron's chest as he lounged in the sun. And seated, no _perched_, coylynext to them was arguably the prettiest girl in Hogwarts since Cho Chang, with doe eyes and a pouty, very feminine voice. She was a brilliant little actress and singer who also had a tragic life story that could very nearly rival Harry Potter's. She had a way of winning over the hearts of the biggest, strongest men with the pure intent of protecting her delicate beauteous self, all the while insisting that all she was ugly, stupid, and insecure with no talents whatsoever, _poor dear_. In short, she was Every Guy's Greatest Dream in the flesh and had admirers falling all over her and lining the hallways everywhere she went.

Hermione took an ungraceful swig of her drink for dramatic emphasis and rolled her eyes. She couldn't help but dislike those two girls but felt incredibly guilty about it because they had always been civil and even friendly towards her, offering on more than one occasion to patronizingly "do something about that hair" and "fix up her really, very pretty eyes." She was sitting atop of a pile of firewood for the impending bonfire and leaned over to nudge Harry who was doing a little dance with tongs in one hand and Ginny in the other, who was trying to tell him how many patties to make with cheese, with little success.

Harry turned and Hermione jerked her head in Ron's direction with a look of absolute disgust on her face clearly proclaiming, "Where did we go wrong with that one?" He shrugged in response while giving her a lop-sided grin as Ginny looked over as well.

"Oh, poor Trish. She lost her parents when she was seven, you know. And her uncle made her a servant in her own house until Mum stepped in. She's practically my sister by now. And she's a real sweetheart, Hermione. I think you should try and be nicer to the poor thing. She doesn't know what she's saying sometimes."

Ginny was referring to a time where Trish managed to whisper into Ron's ear that which Hermione resolutely maintains were completely false rumors which launched the third-biggest fight in Ron and Hermione's history.

"She's very distraught. The darling has no one to speak of in the world, except us. Trish is staying with us this summer, until she can get on her feet, poor thing. Frightfully tragic, isn't it?"

"Just like Cinderella." Hermione murmured.

"Who?"

"Never mind." Hermione sighed and hopped down from the woodpile and made her way gingerly over to the little trio on the grass.

"Play nice!" Harry called after her.

Hermione stuck her tongue out at him.

"Sod off, Potter!"

"Hey, Ron." Hermione started non-chalantly. Petite-Raven-Haired-Vixen was now literally on top of him and running her hands sickeningly over his slightly undone dress shirt. "Umm…Haven't talked to you all day!"¨_Three bloody months, actually, but·ho's counting? _She thought bitterly.¦quot;Congratulations on making it through, by the way!" She continued while eyeballing PRHV who looked as though she was about to have her way with him right then and there.

Ron looked up at her rather distractedly. "Oh, hi, Hermione. Yeah, you too." Clearly he wasn't about to jump and give her a huge hug, followed by sitting her down to have a great conversation about what they were going to do all summer.

Hermione noticed he had placed his hand on the small of PRHV's back and Hermione wrinkled her nose. _Oh, Gross. Three words for you two: Get. A. Room._

"Hey, Hermione! Great speech today!" Trish's melodic, pixie-like voice sang up to her as she adjusted her perfect little self in her perfect little sundress in her perfect little position on the lawn.

"Thanks," Hermione glanced at Trish briefly and sat down next to her, all the while eyeballing the couple. She pulled her knees up to her chin defensively and shivered, even though it was a perfectly warm evening and the sun was _just_ beginning to set.

"So…umm…Ron, I realize you're quite preoccupied at the moment, but I was just wondering, since I haven't talked to you in, oh, _forever_, if you had changed your mind about going to Switzerland with the boys."

"Nope." He did not even look at her. _Oh, no_, he _was too busy gazing adoringly into_ _PRHV's tackily shadowed eyes for that. _

One word responses. Apparently, not in the mood to talk. _Bloody_ great.

They all sat in an awkward silence for about fifteen more minutes during which time Harry had pushed a sizzling burger under all their noses with an amazing sense of pride in his eyes and Trish had smiled sweetly at him, thanking him earnestly. He had blushed. _What is WRONG with people these days?_ Hermione wondered. _What is wrong with me? Maybe I'm menstruating…Could this day get any better?_

It was at that moment that she realized that had it been any day in years previous, Ron would have detected her foul mood from a mile off and shouted, "Are you in _heat_ or something?" for all the world to hear, to which she would have fumed and stormed off with Harry in tow…But alas, now he was now too busy running his hands through PRHV's smooth locks to even care. What Hermione would not have given at that moment to be publicly humiliated by him.

Hermione sighed. She tried one more time. True, they _had_ drifted apart all year and Hermione didn't seem to have cared, but recently it had come to her attention that if they were going to remain friends at all, they would have to reconnect somehow over the summer. Didn't he want that? Didn't he need her anymore?

"Ron, I wrote you that little something I told you about and left it up in your room."

Hermione had spent a good two hours penning a heartfelt memoir of the past seven years so that Ron would have something to look back on and know how important and special he was to her, through all the bickering and banter.e had promised her one in return, too.

"Mmhmm…"

_Right._

That was it. She had had enough. Hermione wasn't sure why she became so utterly angry and jealous (_Am Iªealous?_) at that particular moment, but she found herself on her feet and practically stomping away from that steamy little sideshow on the grass.

She broke into a run as she saw the little crooked front gate she knew so well come into view and beyond that the countryside, dotted with a few crooked farmhouses and great many clucking hens. _Clucking hens, clucking hens, _Hermione thought bitterly as her eyes stung with tears she finally allowed to fall.

She was practically sobbing by the time she reached the oak tree across the road from the Weasley farmhouse. Fred and George had long-ago rigged an enchanted and elaborate slide/swimming hole/rope swing/swingset deal about the old tree and Hermione fell into one of the rickety wooden swings and held her face in her hands and sobbed.

All the emotions she had kept hidden away from even herself bottled up inside her had finally broken into the open. She pretended not to care that Ron had claimed to have found "the best friends he had ever had" during 7th Year. He had proclaimed to nearly the entire school thatµp until that point he had been hating himself, his life, and had little confidence, but his new friends meant everything to him and had brought him into the best year of his life. Hermione was _shocked_. Sometimes she knew Ron was jealous of Harry and even her, but she had always thought that he had always been honest with her. And at the very least, happy. They had good times, didn't they? If something had been bothering him half as much as it so obviously seemed to have, he could always have come to her. They were best friends, weren't they? Since they were _kids._ Didn't that mean anything? Ron was most certainly her bestest-best-friend. Could he not return that sentiment?

And even beyond that, there was the jealousy. Jealous of his new friends that had snatched him away from Harry. Jealous of the girls that had pranced into his life…and way from her? It would have been absolutely unnatural for Hermione to not have at least _crushed_ on Ron in a few brief moments of complete insanity. In fact, she had even had feelings for _Harry_ at one point. I mean, that's what happens when three teenagers grow up together. It was inevitable. However, Hermione had always dismissed these fleeting, little tuggings of the heart to what Ron had addressed once as "animal magnetism."

_Those very rare occasions don't let up they keep on coming.  
All I've ever wanted and I'm throwing it away.  
__It's easy, it's easy as life. _

Hermione recalled back in third year to something her mother had told her in passing. She¡nd Mrs. Weasley were talking over biscuits when Mrs. Weasley had laughingly said, "I once thought that Hermione and Ron would be together, but now I realize that they are just too good of friends for that! Ron doesn't see her in that way anymore. Don't get me wrong, he spent a good summer positively _mooning _over her. She's like a sister to him." And even farther back in second year, "Ron told me he liked Hermione because 'she's not like a girl.' She's like one of the boys. Isn't that funny?" Hermione had chalked up her four extra years as a tomboy (because she was one at heart and happily so) to the fact that she feared if she were to go "girly" on Ron and Harry, then they would regard her as one of those silly, brainless little numbers.

Who was she kidding? When she was with one of her boyfriends, her mind flashed back to Ron, comparing her beau to her best friend, almost unconsciously. Did Ron ever feel the same way about her in his moments of complete desperation? Did he ever see her, too, as more than just a friend or _sister?_ Probably not. They discussed their love lives openly with each other, appraised each others boyfriends and girlfriends protectively and threatened to avenge each other's broken hearts while volunteering to help find their next date into Hogsmeade. They did not even to go their Seventh Year Ball together. Hermione and Harry had gone together as is customary of Head Boy and Girl and Ron and taken…Trish.

As she felt her heart breaking then and there on that little swing, Hermione never knew and yet she had always known, that all her life she had been in love with Ronald Weasley.

* * *

**Chapter Three:**

Hermione felt someone's slender arms wrap around her trembling shoulders. It was Trish.

"Hey, you left so suddenly. I could tell you were really upset. Were you uncomfortable with that whole strip-tease happening next to us? I have to tell you I was positively weirded out too. Even I had to leave, too, after a while." She laughed and Hermione had to follow suit, even through her tears.

"Imagine what his mother would say if she found out." Hermione said, trying to remain perky and in control of her cracking voice.

Trish looked at her patronizingly.

"I don't know what the matter is or what made you feel so awful, but I'm really sorry," she volunteered.

Hermione shook her head. "No, it's not anyone's fault. It's me. I'm just being stupid and stressed. Very emotional, you know. Leaving Hogwarts after all this time."

"Yeah, I know. Tell me about it." Trish nodded and Hermione felt a more than just a little pang of guilt owing to her grudge against and dissatisfaction towards Trish.

"I'll be okay, though. And you will too." Hermione insisted, wiping her eyes and patting Trish reassuringly on the knee.

Trish smiled, nodded and started to back away, bumping into Ron as he came up behind her.

Hermione turned her back and tried to hide her tear-streaked face from him but he walked around to the front of her swing and stood for a moment before taking both her hands in his and pulling her from her seat.

She sighed sadly and her crying ebbed away as he folded her into one of his wonderful embraces. Even though he was much taller and a great deal lankier than she was, Hermione fit perfectly in his arms. He held her for a long time, Hermione too embarrassed and still a bit too upset to say anything, knowing he would never understand what she was feeling. _She _could barely comprehend what she was feeling. In fact, she did not want him to come over here and pretend to care when for months he had acted as though she barely existed, or rather she existed but was a rather pesky, whiney mosquito which was annoyingly crashing his summer picnic. _Summer picnic, indeed! He's probably going to have quite a few of those cozy affairs with all his new and better friends._ Hermione pulled herself from him, her jaw set resolutely. She did not need this anymore.

"Hermione, wha—where are you going?" Ron shouted after her as she ran to her father's car and finding the spare key in the glove box, revved up the engine, not caring she barely knew how to operate a muggle car and for that matter, did not even have her license…or that her father would have to Floo his poor self home.

"Like you care!" Hermione shouted over her shoulder as she hit the gas.

That was the last time she saw him. Three months later, he had telephoned her with the help of his father, screaming as usual, to tell her that he was leaving for Ireland on a Quidditch tour. Hermione bade him well and that she would miss him and he told her good luck with everything. And then he was gone.

He had never written her his letter.

A/N:_ End Flashback...)_

Hermione let go of that old sweater, laughing a little when she noticed how stretched out it was from all the different Weasleys trying to squeeze into it and folded it back up. She placed it next to the parchment and looked around for the little dragon-hide tablet she kept with her at all times. She opened it up, feeling a bit like Josephine March writing to Laurie after their falling-out in _Little Women_, up in her dusty little attic as she smoothed out a new page and dipped her quill into its little inkpot.

"Dear Ron…" she began and proceeded to write him for the first time in over a year. When she was through, eight drafts and fifteen tissues later, she sealed it within an envelope, pressed the seal¡nd nostalgically addressed it to _The Burrow_. Hopefully, his mother would at the very least, pass it on.

Someone tapped loudly on the window above her head. Hermione jumped a mile but discovered Harry's snowy owl, Hedwig, waiting patiently to be let in. She had come all this way even though she did not have a parcel or a letter tied to her leg from her owner. Hedwig, Hermione recalled, seemed to have a sixth-sense for sensing when one of the trio was in desperate need of her services. And as Hermione petted her gratefully on the head, plunged her hand into her pocket for some leftover tea biscuits, and tied her precious letter to Hedwig's outstretched leg, she discovered she was very much "in need," indeed.

* * *

Sigh…So…We'll have to wait and see if he answers…Hopefully it will be soon, for both Hermione's and my sake so that this story may go on... 


End file.
